Iscariot Crimes
by KNS
Summary: KLG resolution. Starbuck and Helo make it back to Galactica, Boomer belongs to Baltar, and Adama and Roslin are still playing tug-of-war.


Iscariot Crimes

by KNS

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, I like them a lot, but they're not mine.

Notes: AU fic, KLG resolution. Many spoilers for S1, so consider yourself warned. This is for EMPorter (OfficerSun524), who not only beta'd this, but promised to let me read her novel pre-publication.

There never was a war that was  
not inward; I must  
fight till I have conquered in myself what  
causes war, but I would not believe it.  
I inwardly did nothing.  
O Iscariot-like crime!  
- Marianne Moore "In Distrust of Merits"

It's been a month now – or, a little over. Sometimes it's hard to remember. It doesn't really matter. Sometimes he has to ask himself what he's remembering, because he's constantly moving so that he won't recall certain things, but that means he forgets almost everything. Then he has to count on his fingers like a child, numbering off the important events.

One – his father isn't dead. He's not nearly his old self, but he's not dead. A month after the unforeseen shooting, a month after all that blood of _Galactica Actual_ spread across the main console, and the Old Man is back in CIC. Tigh jokes with the commander more now, argues less. Lee finds himself being more gentle, too.

Two – Roslin is still president. Zeus may have thrown Hera in the brig, but Hera brought the roof down around their ears until they wisely let her out. With the commander shot, they needed a strong leader desperately, desperately, and of course the dying queen was there. She held things together, and for that even Zeus is grateful.

Three – Sharon is a cylon. What do you do with the creature who destroyed holding tanks, found water, attempted to assassinate the fleet's most superior officer, found Kobol? You throw her in the brig and strip her of her name. Now she is only Cylon, no matter how many tears she cries.

Four – Kara isn't coming back.

He can only count to four. There are more numbers after that, but nothing worth remembering. He hopes that one day, he'll be so busy that he'll only be able to count to three.

* * *

Commander Adama is the one who suggests it.

"We don't need the space," Apollo objects, pouring his father another glass of water.

Adama takes the glass, leans back on the couch that fills the main part of his quarter's common room. "It's time, and you should be the one to do it."

"Because I'm the CAG," Apollo says bitterly. He'd give the job to anyone at this point. Nobody wants it. He twists his own glass nervously in his hands, wishing for ambrosia instead of water.

"Because you were friends," Adama corrects.

Apollo laughs a little. "And what do I do with her stuff?"

"Whatever you think's best." Adama lays a hand on his son's shoulder. "She'd want you to do it. It's time."

So a few hours later the CAG finds himself cleaning out Lieutenant Thrace's locker. It's funny – she always did the job of removing personal items. He never asked her to do it – maybe his father had? Impossible to know. He'd caught her at it once or twice, her face a mask, her eyes cold, but the hands shifting things from locker to storage box were always gentle, so gentle with what they handled.

He called her a screw-up pilot. She said she was sorry, and he walked away.

The first thing he sees when he opens her locker is a picture stuck to her mirror, and old one of him and Zack and her.

Zany-crazy Starbuck has a soft spot – a whole set of them, actually, which she firmly keeps hidden behind a quick temper and a smart-ass mouth. She does stupid things, repents of them later. Sometimes.

He does stupid things, too.

* * *

Doctor Baltar has a problem.

The cylon formerly known as Boomer is existing in her final days. She's fraked and knows it, and human or not, she's got enough humanity to understand the art of going out with a bang.

Tears having gotten her nowhere, Sharon Valerri is now screaming at the top of her lungs that someone knew she was a cylon all along, a certain someone with a cylon detector.

"You're going to have to do something about her," Number Six says, casually strolling around his quarters.

Baltar sits on the edge of his bed and shakes his head. "She's going to be executed soon."

"Not soon enough." Six lifts his glass of ambrosia from the nightstand and deliberately pours it onto the floor. "Sooner or later, someone's going to listen to her."

"And what do you suggest I do?" Balter snarls. He runs a hand over his hair, over his eyes. "Who cares, anyway."

Six throws the glass against a bulkhead, where it shatters with enough force to make Baltar jump. "She's dead, Gaius. Or, if she's not, she's not coming back anytime soon. Forget Starbuck. Save yourself."

Baltar shrugs. "What for? We're all fraked, anyway."

Six rolls her eyes. "God wants you to follow His path, Gaius. That doesn't include self-annihilation." When the doctor says nothing, she leans close to his ear and whispers, "And there is a small chance that she might come back."

* * *

Commander Adama steeples his hands and leans on his desk. He glances from the vice-president to the senior physician. "Let me get this straight. You want to do experiments on the cylon?"

"Not experiments – tests," Baltar corrects quickly. "To gather scientific information."

Adama looks to Cottle. "How can you possibly think this is a good idea?"

"Because we can't execute her," the doctor says heavily. "Kill her, she transfers over to a new body, takes a whole lot of our intel with her, not to mention a grudge. Can't cut her loose for obvious reasons. Might as well learn a few things."

It smacks of torture, and that is something completely unacceptable. On the other hand, when would they get another opportunity to study a cylon so closely?

This is no easy situation. Sharon Valerri had been under his command for years. When the water crisis had been at its worst, she'd been one of the pilots to find a new supply. She'd been one of the first pilots to jump to Kobol. In the horror after the initial cylon attack, the thirty-three minute days when so many had fallen apart, she'd stood with her fellow pilots to keep the fleet safe. She was young, but loyal.

And she'd tried to kill him.

He'd gone to the brig once after being released from Life Station. She's burst into tears and apologized with sobbing breaths, her agony so real that if he hadn't seen her actually fire on him he never, never would believe she'd done it. But he had seen her – she had done it, and he had nothing to say to the cylon under his command.

"I don't want her tortured," he says bluntly.

Baltar nods quickly. "No, of course not. We could – she could be given a sedative." For a moment he looks as if hr's listening to some unseen voice. "A heavy sedative."

Adama glances at Cottle. "You have her med records. Don't stray too far from baseline. And keep me informed."

When the two men are gone, the commander leans back in his chair and wearily rubs his eyes. A few months ago, he'd pictured his life a lot differently than it is now. He was supposed to be retired. He'd picked out a little house with a big garden not too far from a Colonial base on Caprica. He was going to make good with Lee, then start bugging him for grandkids. He was going to invite Kara to visit him when she had shore leave and wasn't in hack. He was going to go fishing.

Instead he's commander of the Colonial Fleet, last protectors of a dying race. Every day the old dreams fade a little more – so much gone, so many lost. Lee's never going to have kids, Kara's dead, fishing is a laughable fantasy. He just gave permission for one of his pilots to become a lab rat.

He feels old.

* * *

If someone gave her a gun, Sharon "Boomer" Valerri is sure she could get the suicide right this time.

Thirty-five days in the brig and she's ready to throw herself out an airlock. Now Doctor Baltar, Doctor Cottle, and six marines are standing outside her cell, and she's just been told what her future holds.

"Commander Adama would never agree to this," she says shakily. She knows she did something horrible, worse than treason, and she's willing to be punished, executed, whatever he sees fit – but not this.

"He did," Cottle replies heavily. He hands her a syringe through the bars. "I suggest you take this. It's a sedative and painkiller. You won't feel anything." Is that a hint of pity in his voice?

Boomer glances at Baltar. "You son of a bitch. This was your idea, because you're afraid someone will believe me about you."

"No one believes you about anything anymore," Baltar informs her evenly. "You will be in excruciating pain if you don't take the injection. But then, that would provide data on cylon pain levels."

She'd like to go insane now. She'd like to switch off her existence, as it's said cylons can do. She'd like to die.

The hand that reaches for the syringe trembles visibly. "Can't you just you just execute me?" she asks softly.

Silence is their answer.

* * *

Dualla is announcing Condition One over the wire as Tigh enters CIC. The area is a whirl of activity, people everywhere, hands readying furiously for an attack.

"Mr. Gaeta?" Tigh snaps, wanting a report.

"Positive Dradis contact," the lieutenant says promptly. His eye are glued to the monitor while his fingers fly over the console. "Two cylon raiders just jumped in. They seem to be heading right for the fleet – they're jumping in and out to avoid the CAP."

"Launch alert fighters. Start the clock for jump," Tigh orders without hesitation.

"Sir!" Dualla calls down. "Sir, one of the raiders is transmitting on Colonial channels. It's – It's Starbuck." She puts the audio feed on speakers without waiting for the order.

" – _get those fraking vipers off my ass! _Galactica_, do you copy? I'm leaking fuel – one near miss and I'm toast! _Galactica_!"_

"Order the CAP to hold their fire," Commander Adama orders, striding into the fray of cheers and shouts. "Tell Starbuck to transmit verfication codes. We've seen the cylons use this trick before."

"The Olympic Carrier," Tigh agrees. "There are two raiders out there. Who's Number Two?"

Starbuck's voice becomes more strident. _"_Galactica_, please. Please copy. I've taken damage. My partner can't transmit, I can't receive – _Galactica_, call off the vipers!"_

"Of course," Tigh growls. "It's a trick."

"Have the CAP escort them in," Adama says tightly. "Tell them to take out both raiders if they do anything, _anything_ suspicious." He moves to the nearest handset, says very calmly, "Get me the CAG."

* * *

Hera may only have four or five months to left to live, but she can still run when she wants to. In high heels, no less, and only Billy knows where she's going and so only he can keep up. The press do their best, but between the long corridors and sharp turns, they're hard put to do more than lag behind.

President Roslin skids to a halt on the mid-hanger deck, catches at her aid for stability at first, then in delight. "Oh my gods, Billy – it's her."

Supporting the president, Billy looks through the crowd of people gathered around the set of cylon raiders, the mass of men and women laughing and cheering, clasping hands and slapping each other on the back. Because he is tall, Billy can see the pair of soldier near one of the raiders: one in fatigues, one in standard uniform, dark haired and fair, clinging so tightly to each other that it's impossible to tell who is supporting who. Apollo and Starbuck. Billy helps the president to force her way through the crowd.

Lieutenant Thrace is accepting good-wishes from others by the time they reach her. Apollo stands behind her, grinning like a fool. Chief Tyrol is off to one side, eyeing his returned raider and its partner. Cally is torn between the lieutenant and her new toys.

Roslin greets Starbuck with a warm smile and a hug. "Welcome back, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir," Starbuck says.

Up close, the president can see the marks of hard times on the soldier. Her skin is an odd color, yellowish white, and her face is thin from weight loss. She has a black eye and a new bump on her nose. The month was hard on her.

Up close, the soldier can see the marks of hard times on the president. Her skin is very pale, and her face is drawn. There are new lines between her brows, around her eyes. The month was hard on her.

"I brought you a present, Madam President," Starbuck says, her voice a bit rough. She limps back to the raider, pulls out a long, thin bundle.

Roslin closes the space between them, takes the offering with respectful hands. "Is this – ?"

Starbuck nods. "Mission accomplished, sir."

"Damn well better be." The voice is Comander Adama's. He stands a short ways back, regarding the lieutenant with an expression of half smile, half grimace. Tigh is with him.

"I think we should throw her in the brig," the colonel declares, grinning broadly.

"I just can't win," Starbuck replies, but she's looking at the commander. After a moment she says, "I had to do it, sir. We can't go back. There has to be someplace for us."

Commander Adama slowly nods. "Earth."

"Earth," Starbuck says, suddenly looking as if she might cry.

Roslin doesn't know who moves first, but commander and lieutenant suddenly stand together embracing. For the first time, she can see it, the father and daughter, the ones who hold to each other because there is nothing else. It makes the president feel glaringly alone.

"Hey, Starbuck, there's somebody in here!" Chief Tyrol calls, standing next to the second raider.

"Aw, frak," Starbuck says. "I forgot all about them. He's gonna kill me." She limps over to the raider, ducks around a wing to stand beside the chief.

"I can't get it to open," Tyrol says. "Who you got in there?"

"It's a surprise," Starbuck replies. She smacks her fist on a set of panels. "Sealed them in," she explains. One final thump and the access panel slides open. "Honey, we're home," she calls up into the raider.

"Took you long enough," a voice answers. "Here, take her first."

Roslin watches in stunned silence as a pair of tiny legs emerge through the hatch, followed by the rest of a yung child. Starbuck catches the wide-eyed girl and settles her easily on her hip.

"Got her."

"What the hell?" Tyrol says, staring at the child.

"Hey, watch your language around my kid." A pilot slithers out of the raider, landing feet-first on the deck. He's covered in cylon brain goo, and smells horrible, like rotting meat. "Starbuck's already taught her way too many words."

"Helo?" Cally asks, disbelief clear in her voice.

"Hey, Cally," Helo replies, grinning broadly. He casually slings an arm around Starbuck's shoulders. "Meet my daughter, Rose."

"Her mother didn't make it," Starbuck tells Apollo.

"Starbuck's been filling that role, if you can believe it," Helo adds.

As if on cue, the little girl with wide dark eyes locks her arms around Starbuck's neck. "Stary," she declares proudly.

The press have a field day.

* * *

The press hound their new favorite story as they head towards sickbay. Helo carries the girl; Starbuck limps along next to Apollo, refusing to be transferred on a med bed. President Roslin and Commander Adama have withdrawn to discuss what to do now that they have the Arrow; whatever they decide, they can't stay here much longer before the cylons find them. The press grant their leaders a brief respite, content to cover the glorious pseudo-family just back from Caprica.

"Lieutenant Thrace, what's it like on Caprica?" calls one blond interviewer.

Apollo slants a glance at Starbuck; her face is set in a blank mask. "Hey, why don't you all give it a rest. They just got here; they'll talk to you later," he tells the press. He steps into the center of the corridor, blocking their path.

Someone is pushing their way aggressively though the crowd, shouldering between newscasters and support crew. The person finally emerges at the front: Doctor Baltar.

"Lieutenant Thrace!" Baltar calls. "Kara!"

Starbuck and Helo halt and turn. The child clasps her father's neck, hides her face against his shoulder.

Baltar dodges past a glowering Apollo, stops before Starbuck. "I thought you were dead," he says softly, and moves as if to embrace her.

She quickly catches one of his hands, shakes it firmly. Her smile is sincere, if a bit formal. "Alive and kicking, Mr. Vice President."

The doctor looks stunned, as if she's slapped him. "I see. That's good, very good."

"I see you made it back from Kobol in one piece," Starbuck adds. She tries to pull back her hand, but Baltar won't release it.

He's staring at her intently. "I did. Yes. You look a little worse for wear." He smiles, looking like a dog hoping for a kind word from its master.

"Tough month," she agrees briefly, and yanks back her hand.

"Doctor Baltar – good to see you again," Helo says brightly, half stepping between them.

Baltar blinks, looks confused for a moment, then recalls who the pilot is. "And you. Have to say, never thought I'd see you again. I really, really appreciate what you did for me. Thank you." But even as he shakes the pilot's hand, his eyes are on Thrace.

The little girl turns her head to look at the doctor. For a moment he wears the distant expression of a man listening to unseen voices.

"Hello there," he tells the child softly. "What's your name?"

The girl looks at her father.

"Her name's Rose," Helo answers.

"Rose," Baltar echoes. "She looks – very familiar."

"She looks just like Helo," Starbuck says swiftly. "And she needs to be checked out by a doctor."

"You all do," Apollo adds. "If you'll excuse us, doctor?"

"Of course." Baltar's gaze returns to Starbuck. "We'll talk later."

The press record everything.

* * *

Standing behind a curtain in Life Station, Starbuck says, "So fill me in on what's been going on."

On the other side of the curtain, Apollo sighs. "Not much good. After you jumped back to Caprica, the commander sent Boomer and Racetrack to land a nuke in the Basestar at Kobol. It worked perfectly."

"I hear a 'but' coming," Starbuck says.

"Alright. Drop the pants to I can see your knee," Doctor Cottle orders. He's with Starbuck behind the curtain, running monitors and scans. "You haven't been taking anti-radiation meds, have you?" he accuses. "I can tell by the color of your skin."

"I did too take the meds," Starbuck denies.

From behind another curtain across the room, Helo calls, "Now Starbuck, we talked about honesty."

"Frak off, flyboy," she laughingly returns. To Apollo she adds, "I was glad to see Cally and the chief made it back okay."

Apollo notices she doesn't mention Baltar. "Yeah, that part worked fine, but –"

"Fraking Lords of Kobol," Cottle grumbles. "How'd you do that, Thrace?"

The CAG sticks his head around the curtain. Starbuck's sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but the basics, and he can see the purple-green bruises running down her left side from shoulder to hip. "Damn, Starbuck."

"You should see the other guys," she laughs.

"Showing off scars?" Helo calls. "Show them that one you got when you went down two levels and landed on the cylon."

"Don't hound me," Starbuck calls back. She glances at the doctor, who is frowning darkly at her knee. "Hey, that hurts," she says in response to his poking.

"Hey, no kidding?" Cottle returns. "Still got that cane?"

"No way," she replies flatly. "No way, no way, no way. I am not going back to a cane."

The doctor smiles. "Fine. Still have the brace?"

"Frak me," she snarls.

Apollo laughs. "Crutches – maybe she should use crutches."

"Frak you, too," Starbuck tells him.

"Not with that knee, you won't," Helo calls.

Starbuck looks at Apollo. "I'll bet Boomer was the talk of the ship after she landed that nuke."

Apollo's smile fades.

"In a way," Cottle agrees dryly.

* * *

Doctor Cottle orders both pilots to stay in Life Station until their anti-radiation meds take effect. Living on stimulants and minimal food hadn't helped their condition, and they both had wounds in various stages of healing. Malnourished, exhausted – the doc gave them both sedatives.

"And the child?" Apollo asks, standing beside the hatch with the doctor.

"Girl's fine," Cottle says. "They were giving her the food and meds. Stupid, because she didn't need the extra calories or adult dose of meds. I've got someone to watch her until her father wakes up. Maybe a few hours, maybe a day."

But Apollo knows Starbuck. He waits down the corridor after Cottle leaves; after a few minutes, Kara Thrace comes slinking out of the med bay. Barefoot and limping, she moves remarkably fast for someone supposedly on sedatives. He silently follows her.

Where does she go? Straight to the nearest showers.

She's already beneath the spray when he enters. No one else is there.

"Go away, Lee," she tells him the instant the hatch closes.

"You're supposed to be in Life Station," he returns, not bothering to hide. "Those sedatives are going to hit you any second."

She snorts. "Listen, I've just spent the last month running, hiding, and having my ass kicked by clyons. Dying beneath a glorious stream of hot water really isn't that frightening. Hey, hand me some soap, will you?"

He hunts around, finds a bar of soap and a razor, throws them both over the shower door. "Incoming."

She swears at him when the items hit her, changes to blessing him when she sees the razor. "Gods, I love you, you ugly bastard."

He tries not to take her words too seriously. "So, tell me about Caprica."

She doesn't say anything.

"You still awake in there?" he asks finally.

"Yeah." Pause. "The meds are kicking in." She shuts off the water. "How about a towel?"

This takes more hunting than the soap. Eventually he finds one, again tosses it over the stall door. "It's still damp," he warns.

"Who gives a damn." She sounds very relaxed. The sedatives have enough of a hold on her now that her fingers fumble with the door latch.

He opens the door, and she literally falls into him, laughing sleepily. She can barely keep her eyes open.

"Come on, stay awake," Apollo says, trying not to laugh. "You have to get back to sickbay."

The main hatch opens. Cally takes a few steps in, blinks at what she sees, and swiftly turns on her heel. "Sorry."

"No, Cally, wait," Apollo says. "Give me a hand with her!"

"Still on duty, sir. Bye." And the specialist is back out the hatch, closing it firmly behind her.

"That's going to make a fun rumor," Apollo grumbles. "Kara, come on!"

She stumbles away from him to a bench against the wall and sits down. "Just let me sit here a minute." She then stretches out, head on her arms, one leg drawn up.

Defeated, he sits down near her head. The towel has slipped; he pulls it back into place. His hand lingers on her wet hair, smoothing it down. She has a fading bruise on her temple, a whole set of them on her neck.

Close – she came close to not coming back.

He sighs, leans his head back against the wall. For a moment, it's enough to simply be still and rest.

* * *

She doesn't know how long it's been. A month, a week, a day – it doesn't matter. After the first encounter when she learned about this hell, she never saw Major Cottle again. Doctor Baltar's the only one who comes to the cell. He doesn't talk to her – or maybe she's lost her hearing, like she's losing her hair. Clump by clump, and whether it's because of the injections or because she's ripping it out, she doesn't know. That doesn't matter, either.

In this tiny cell at the very back of the brig, she doesn't see anyone, talk to anyone, touch anyone. She's completely alone – except for Doctor Baltar and his injections. Currently, he's testing how long she can go without food. At least, she thinks that's what he's testing; maybe he's just forgotten that she gets hungry.

The sedatives mellow her out, but don't knock her out. She fakes a reaction greater than what she feels because it's the only control she has left.

Sitting on the bunk, a blanket wrapped around her, she remembers the warmth of the Caprica sun.

* * *

Kat and Hot Dog catch Starbuck in the corridor just after she's submitted her debriefing report. Kat catches her around the neck, spins her in a giant hug while Hot Dog looks on, grinning from ear to ear.

"Looks like the cylons didn't like the taste of you, sir," he says brightly.

Starbuck pries Kat off her neck, laughing. "Gods, Kat, trying to finish me off? Good to see you both," she adds. "Have you and the others been good boys and girls?"

"Hell, no," Kat replies. "Sir." She reaches inside a flight suit pocket and pulls out a fistful of cigars.

"Welcome home," Hot Dog adds, handing her a bottle of ambrosia.

Starbuck laughs in delight. "You wonderful brats. Thank the gods – Apollo confiscated all my stash while I was gone."

"We missed you, sir," Kat says, blinking quickly.

"Even your yelling," Hot Dog agrees.

"Yeah, well, I missed you, too," Starbuck replies. "Now, I'm on my way to the mess. Why don't you two tag along, and I'll tell you how old Starbuck managed to bring _two_ raiders back to Chief Tyrol."

* * *

Hera and Zeus have been trying to work out a plan for hours. For hours they've been dancing around the topic they still haven't addressed in over a month's time: the near military coup of the fleet.

Roslin's the one who finally brings it up, because she knows Adama is hellishly stubborn and would rather drop dead than admit he was wrong.

"If I don't agree with your plan, are you going to throw me in the brig again?" she asks, only half teasing.

He looks at her over the top of his glasses. "Are you going to convince my best pilot to take off on another wild goose chase?"

Roslin leans back, nodding. "So that's what made you so upset: not that the raider was gone, but that Thrace went with it."

"Both are military assets – that puts them under my purview," Adama says firmly. "That was our arrangement: you handle the civilian issues, I run the military. You crossed the line."

"I crossed the line?" she echoes. "You dismissed me out of hand. I didn't board your ship and have you hauled off at gunpoint – running the risk of serious bloodshed, I might add."

He glowers. "You subordinated my authority. I have always stood solidly behind you." Pause. "And this isn't the first time you've tried this trick. You did the same thing with Colonel Tigh. Apollo's idealistic; I can see how he'd side with you. But Starbuck? I can't figure out what you did there."

"I didn't do anything except tell her the truth," Roslin replies evenly. "Even then, she didn't believe me. So you tell me – what did _you_ do to convince her to go?"

Adama takes off his glasses. "You told her about Earth." And Starbuck had come running to him, looking for any scrap of defense. He hadn't lied, at least. Small comfort now. "We had a deal."

"The arrangement included not conducting a military coup," she reminds him.

"You started it," he returns.

* * *

Apollo finds Starbuck in the mess, surrounded by her trainees and fellow pilots. She's got a cigar in one hand and a glass of ambrosia in the other; the sound of her laughter blends perfectly with the noise of the room. He heads in her direction.

She sees him coming and finishes her tale quickly. He's only in time to hear her say, "And that's how the CAG and I ended up spending his twenty-fifth birthday in the brig."

Apollo ducks his head. "Gods, Starbuck, did you have to tell them that story?" He slides onto the bench beside her, steals the bottle of ambrosia and an abandoned glass.

"It's a classic," she protests, laughing.

"Well, let's talk about some of your birthday celebrations, shall we?" he returns.

"This outta be good," Hot Dog smirks.

A small streak of motion comes flying through the hatch, weaving its way with remarkable speed between legs and benches. "Stary!" it yells, and throws itself at Starbuck.

"Hey, kiddo," Starbuck laughs. She scoops the girl up, plops her on her good knee. "What're you doing, runnin' around free? Who let you out of your cage?"

"Daddy," Rose answers, smiling.

"Gods, Starbuck, she's a cute one," Kat says.

"Pretty, too," Hot Dog adds. "_Stary_."

The people around the table pick up the new nick name instantly, batting their eyes and making faces. The little girl laughs wildly, and the pilots play to her like professional actors.

"Okay, okay," Starbuck mock-grumbles. "Cut me some slack. She couldn't get out the whole word."

"Oh, but Stary, it's such a great name," Apollo teases.

Starbuck smooths down the girl's dark hair. "Rose, that's Polly. He's a fraking bastard, so don't listen to anything he says, okay?" She winks, and the girl laughs and nods.

"Hey, who let me kid in here with these no-good viper pilots?" Helo demands, but he's grinning like a madman. "Gonna tarnish her image of what real pilots are like."

"Helo! Hey, have a drink," Racetrack says, offering him a glass.

"Thanks, beautiful," he says, taking the ambrosia. "A toast to the best crew of the best ship in the fleet – to _Galactica_!"

"_Galactica_!" roars the table.

"Gods, that's good stuff," Helo adds after taking a long swallow. "Never thought I'd taste it again. Or be here again. With my two best girls, no less." He grins down at Starbuck and Rose.

Apollo feels the smile freeze on his face.

"Take a seat, friend," Crashdown offers. "You and I haven't met, but I fly your raptor now."

"I'm gonna want that back." Helo slouches onto the bench, one leg on either side. "And my co-pilot, too. Where is Boomer these days? Would've thought she'd be around. Boomer, you in here?" he shouts.

The room is suddenly very quiet. Eyes are averted, faces turn away.

"Oh gods – is she dead?" Helo asks into the silence.

"She should be," a soldier says from the next table over. Verlez is a mechanic, one of Tyrol's people, a big, burly man with dark hair and even darker eyes. He doesn't have much use for pilots, sees them mostly as spoiled favorites of the fleet. "She should've been thrown out an airlock for shooting the Old Man."

Helo's confused. "What the hell are you talking about, Verlez?"

"Helo," Starbuck warns. She slides the girl off her knee, onto the bench beside Kat.

"Haven't you heard? Sharon Velarri shot the commander, right in the middle of CIC." Verlez stands up slowly, puts a foot on the bench and leans on his knee. "She's a cylon." He's enjoying the story immensely. Grinning at Starbuck, he adds, "Funny how she did it after you left the back door open."

Apollo sees the way Starbuck's eyes narrow. "Back off, specialist," he tells the man.

"Just making conversation, captain," Verlez says easily. "Interesting, how Starbuck manages to get all the way back to Caprica, not only find the Arrow, but the missing raptor pilot and his kid, too, and get them back here right before we jump away."

Starbuck turns to face the man. "Something you want to say?"

Verlez shrugs. "You were friends with Boomer. So was he." He jerks his head at Helo. "Maybe it's more than luck that brought you back, huh?"

It takes Apollo and two others to drag Starbuck off the mechanic, and by the time they do, she's smashed his face against the deck so many times that his nose is no more than a blob and blood is spurting everywhere.

* * *

Colonel Tigh just throws up his hands. "I know we're all supposed to be thrilled that you're back, Starbuck, but do you really think I missed your brawling?"

"Mmm – yes?" Starbuck guesses.

"No!" Tigh glares at Apollo. "You're her CAG – you do something."

Apollo looks at Starbuck. "Bad, Thrace. Very bad."

Starbuck chokes on suppressed laughter. So does Apollo.

Tigh growls wordlessly, circles around his desk. He picks up a datapad, throws it at Starbuck. "And that's the worst debriefing report I've ever read. Three paragraphs? You were gone a month, and you only have three paragraphs? Say some more!"

So Starbuck says, "They're long paragraphs."

Apollo snorts, still trying desperately not to laugh.

"Get out, both of you," Tigh shouts. "And I better not have any more complaints about you, Lieutenant, or you'll be spending your first days back in the brig!"

* * *

Starbuck decides it's time to see the source of the fight.

The marine on brig duty merely shakes his head when she arrives at the hatch. "Who'd you deck this time, sir?" he asks.

"No one," she protests, laughing. "I'm not here for a stay – I'm here to see the prisoner."

"The cylon?" Again the marine shakes his head. "Sorry, sir. I have orders to keep everyone from her."

Starbuck rolls her eyes. "Come on. I just spent the last month on Caprica. Do you know how many cylons I saw? What's one more?"

"I have my orders," the soldier says faithfully. Then he winks and turns away.

Starbuck scrabbles past him. The cells are all empty. She goes to the very end of the block without seeing anyone. It's not until her third pass that she sees the figure laying very still on the cot.

She halts before the bars, stares into the cell. "You're a cylon."

The figure rolls over, sits up. "Starbuck?" she croaks, barely above a whisper. She clears her throat, says more firmly, "I'm not a cylon."

Starbuck only looks at her. "You're a cylon."

Reluctantly Boomer bows her head. "I'm a cylon."

"You shot the Old Man."

Boomer nods miserably.

"Why?" Starbuck demands softly.

"Couldn't stop myself. I didn't plan to. I went to shake his hand – and instead I shot him." She puts a hand over her eyes. "Wish I'd shot myself."

"I think you tried that," Starbuck says. She pauses. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm a cylon," Boomer answers obediently.

"No. I mean – come here."

Boomer gathers the blanket around her, gets off the bunk, crosses over to the bars. "You look like you've had your ass kicked multiple times."

"Me?" Starbuck norts. "What happened to you? Where are your clothes?" Because the raptor pilot is down to her double tank tops and boxers. Her eyes are sunken in her skull, her face is drawn, and she's got dark bruises on her neck.

"They got taken," Boomer answers, trying to laugh and failing. "Kinda funny." She glances down the row at the marine on duty, quickly looks back to Starbuck. "Listen, please – can you get me something to eat? I know the doc's running his tests, but it's been a really long time and – he likes you, he may not. . .mind. . ."

Starbuck mutely stares at her.

"And, do you know – did Chief Tyrol make it back from Kobol? Is he okay?" she asks softly.

Still Starbuck says nothing.

"Please? For old times' sake?" Boomer whispers.

"Sharon – what the frak's going on?" Starbuck demands. "Are you not being fed? No clothes? Are you drugged?"

"I'm a cylon," the raptor pilot says miserably. "They said they need the data from experiments to help defeat the cylons."

Starbuck turns away, shaking her head. "No. No, this isn't happening."

* * *

She's so angry, she doesn't even know where to go first, what to do first. She's so angry she wants to scream, to lash out, to throw up.

The one who creeps through the red haze is Lee. Lee, who can't possibly know anything about this, or he would've put a stop to it.

Lee is half-watching a game of pyramid while cleaning his handgun. Dualla and Crashdown seem to be the last two left in the game, while Helo and Gaeta look on. Rose is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Baltar.

They all greet her as she enters, swallow their invitations to join them when they see the expression on her face. Helo gets to his feet; she halts him with a half-raised hand.

"Captain Adama – a minute of your time, sir," she bites out calmly.

Apollo wears the "Who, me?" look for a moment, but lays aside his rag and gun. "Sure."

Starbuck turns and walks out without waiting for him.

"His ass is grass," Dualla says softly as the hatch shuts behind the captain.

Helo stares at the closed door.

Apollo follows Starbuck to a semi-secluded alcove. "What's going on?"

She turns on him. "Do you know what's going on with Boomer?"

He withdraws a little. Sharon Valerri isn't someone he wants to even think about. "She's in the brig."

"And?" Starbuck demands.

"And, what?" he returns warily.

Starbuck smiles, not from amusement. "Do you know about the medical experiments, the sedatives, the lack of food?"

"Kara, what the hell are you talking about?" Apollo asks, spreading his hands.

"I went to see her," Starbuck snarls. "In the brig. She's been stripped, starved, and sedated. It's torture, Lee – and I want to know if you approved it."

"No!" he denies. "It's not possible. She – it – lied to you."

Starbuck shakes her head. "I saw her. Go see for yourself."

"It lied to you," Apollo says again, more calmly this time. "It shot the commander. It's capable of anything."

"I know what I saw!"

He sighs, puts a hand to his head. "Let me do some checking."

For a moment it doesn't seem that will be enough to pacify her, but then she nods. "Okay. Okay. But – so you didn't know."

"Of course not," he answers. "Because it's not happening."

* * *

Helo waits until he sees Apollo round the corner, then quickly circles around to find Starbuck leaning against a bulkhead. "What was that about?" he asks, coming to stand beside her.

"Losing our collective soul," she answers. He's standing close enough that she can lean just a little and lay her head on his shoulder. "Where's Rose?"

"Sleeping," he says, leaning his head against hers. "She does that a lot now. Seems to grow faster that way. Someone's with her. Where were you?"

"In the brig, seeing Boomer." She pauses. "You should go see her. She still thinks you're dead."

He swallows. "I can't."

"Karl –"

"No, Kara. I can't," he says firmly.

"You were her partner, her ECO."

"That was a lifetime ago, before I knew she was a cylon and she shot the commander."

Starbuck sighs. "She tried to kill herself, before all of this. Maybe she knew."

"Obviously didn't work," he says glibly, but there's emotion under the statement, worry and anger.

"You loved her, once," Starbuck presses. "Rose is proof of that."

Helo closes his eyes, remembering how he'd watched Sharon and Tyrol slink around, how he felt when he thought she'd come back for him. "Do you ever think, maybe it was easier when we were running for our lives on Caprica?"

Starbuck laughs a little. "Hell, yes. All the time. Tigh wants me to write a better report. Says the one I turned in was too short. What the frak do I say? No one really wants to know the truth, not even him. And I don't want to tell it."

"There's nothing," Helo agrees, wrapping an arm around her, as he so often has before. "Nothing left, nothing to say."

* * *

Out of earshot, Baltar watches the two pilots standing together. Six leans against a bulkhead and watches him.

"They make a good couple," she says. "Better than you and her."

Jaw clenched, Baltar turns and walks away.

* * *

It's getting late in the rotation. Commander Adama is in his quarters, reviewing the plan hashed out with Roslin over the past few days. She will take the Arrow down to Athena's Tomb, and he will send a large escort with her while the fleet stands at Condition One, ready to jump at the first sign of trouble. He'd like to physically go with her, but it's out of the question. Someone has to keep watch.

Roslin seemed almost as tired as he felt by the time they agreed on a plan. She's been acting a bit odd lately, taking more time to herself, although gods know she still stands before the press a lot. Her vice president is useless, often seems on the verge of a complete breakdown. At least he's not dangerous, as Zarek would've been, but still – Baltar's not doing much for Roslin. Billy, her aid – now there's a good man. A little older and he would've made a good vice president.

"Come in," he calls when a knock comes at the hatch. It's Lee, just as he'd guessed. Lee stops by almost every evening now, since his release from sickbay. "Come to check on your old man?"

Lee smiles, looks very much like his mother for a moment. "Yes, and no."

Adama pours them both a glass of water, hands one to Lee as he sits down on the couch. "What's on your mind?"

Lee reluctantly answers, "Sharon Valerri. I heard she's taking part in some – research."

This was not supposed to have gotten out – but then, secrets never are. "Where'd you hear that?"

"So it's true?" Lee counters, looking stunned.

"Doctor Baltar and Major Cottle are gathering what information they can about cylons from her," Adama replies. "She's not being harmed."

Lee shakes his head. "That's not what Starbuck says. She went to see Boomer in the brig."

"Starbuck? Why? I'd've though she'd had enough of cylons when she was on Caprica."

"She hit the roof after seeing Velarri. Kara doesn't usually exaggerate. She said the cylon was – how'd she put it? Stripped, starved, and sedated." He laughs a little. "She was pretty hot about it."

Starbuck has always held execution as the best punishment for treason, and she hates cylons. Something has changed. "I'll look into it."

"Okay." Lee hesitates. "What are you going to do with the cylon?"

It's a good question. Adama sighs. "Nothing, for now. Options are limited – can't cut her lose, can't execute her. We're stuck with each other for awhile longer."

* * *

It's late. The corridors are mostly empty. His footsteps echo hollowly on the deck. After close to three months on Caprica, hiding and dodging cylons, it's easy to slip past the marine guarding the brig.

Helo scrambles to the end of the block, squats down on his haunches. "Boomer? Hey, Boomer, it's me. Karl. Helo."

The darkness stirs, becomes a shadow that slinks towards him. "Helo? Is that really you?"

"Yeah, it's me." He stops.

The shadow is pressed against the bars. "I can't see you."

Which makes him laugh a little, because cylons should be able to see in the dark. "I hear you're a cylon now."

"You don't sound surprised," Boomer whispers, sounding surprised herself.

"Nothing surprises me anymore," he returns.

"Listen, Helo – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left you on Caprica," she says softly, her voice thick. "I made the wrong choice. I should've been the one to stay behind."

That's true, he thinks. If she'd stayed, he never would've known she was a cylon. He never would've been fooled by the other cylon. There'd be no Rose. And he'd still love a raptor pilot who hid in shadows with the Chief of the Deck.

"I wish I could see you," she says softly. "I'm so sorry." And she puts a hand between the bars.

Crouched on the floor, Helo takes her hand in his. How did things ever get this twisted? Once upon a time there was a ship with a squadron of pilots. They weren't perfect, but they were whole. Now only pieces remain. Pieces of yesterday.

He reaches through the bars to lay a hand on her head.

* * *

The bunk room is dark and silent when Apollo finally returns. The curtain is drawn across Starbuck's bunk, she he knows she's there. He figures what he's learned will wait until morning. He finds his own rack, calls it quits.

Later he's jerked awake. Someone's walking about the room. The hatch opens, closes with barely a sound. He looks around, squinting in the darkness. The curtain to Kara's rack is drawn back.

Starbuck can't take the silence and stillness. She spent nights on Caprica dreaming about getting back to _Galactica_, and now here she is, can't sleep, can barely stay still for more than five minutes. She starts walking. She'd like to run, but that's completely out of the question with her knee. She's still limping as it is.

"Hey, where you going?"

That's Lee. She considers ignoring him, but stops and turns. "Nowhere," she answers, because there's nowhere to go. She wants to see Helo, to make sure Rose is sleeping okay. She wants to close her eyes and not see images of a decimated Caprica. She wants to go back in time a few years and change details.

They face each other, two tired friends who should be resting and can't.

"I spoke with Dad," Apollo begins.

She already knows what he's going to say. "Let me guess – he didn't know."

"Actually, he said it wasn't experiments, just research. She isn't being harmed," he replies. "It's more than she – it – deserves, Kara."

Starbuck laughs a little, almost too tired to be angry anymore. "Sharon's not an 'it', Lee. She's alive, and this is wrong."

"You weren't there," he says harshly. "You didn't see what happened. The blood – he was so still. I thought he was going to die."

"No, I wasn't there, but it's not like I was on vacation," she snaps back. "You want to punish her, court-marshal her, throw her out an airlock? Fine, go for it. But what's happening now –" She shakes her head. "Listen to me, Lee. The cylons have almost everything now. The one difference between them and us is that we can see the shades of grey between good and evil. Cylons can't: everything is either right or wrong. That's the last difference between us."

"The last difference is that we're real and they're not," he returns. "What's wrong with you? You tortured a cylon to get information from it – "

"It had info we needed to prevent more death!"

"So does the cylon in the brig!" He takes a deep breath, slowly lets it out. "If we can get intel on cylon function by studying her, I say, let's do it." More quietly he adds, "She's responsible for nearly killing Dad, Kara."

"And what are we responsible for, Lee?" Starbucks asks. "We both know she didn't shoot herself by accident. We knew it the instant we heard what happened. Did you do anything? I didn't do anything. She said it was an accident, and I took it at face value. I didn't even ask her why."

"It's not my fault she shot someone," he says fiercely.

"You're the CAG! It's your job to give a damn about your pilots," Starbuck returns. "And I was her friend, so that makes me even more to blame than you. All I'm saying here, Lee, is that maybe we aren't completely innocent in what happened."

Starbuck turns and limps away. Apollo is glad, because he's sure he's about to say something he'll regret later.

* * *

In space, dawn never comes, but time still exists.

About an hour before the sun would rise on Caprica, Roslin is jerked from sleep by a pain in her chest. She wakes up gasping, hand pressing against the pain. The sheets are wet from perspiration, and she's shaking with chills. A fever, and nausea to go with it – she barely makes it to the toilet before her stomach tries to declare its independence and move out. She half sits, half lays on the floor for awhile, a long while, until Billy knocks on the door and asks if she's alright.

"I'm fine," she says, trying to sound bright. "What time is it?"

"Uh, 0700 hours," Billy replies. "Half an hour before we board a raptor to jump to Kobol."

Ha. Not today. One step outside the bathroom door and anyone with eyes will know she's ill.

"I need you to phone Commander Adama and let him know there's been a change of plan," she says firmly. "Tell him I require an extra day to research the Arrow." Pause. "And when you're done with him, I need you to get Doctor Cottle over here for me."

* * *

Cally and Chief Tyrol are crawling around the new raider when Starbuck appears.

"How's our new girl doing, Chief?" Starbuck asks, leaning against a wing.

Tyrol makes some answer that doesn't penetrate the hull.

"He says it's going good, sir," Cally translates. "Exact same specifications as the last one you brought home, only this one has a few more organs left inside."

Starbuck laughs. "Yeah, well, we were in a big hurry."

Tyrol slithers out of the hatch, lands on his feet with a thud. He's got a reddish brown sack in his hand that wobbles with internal fluid. "Take a look at this, Cally. I think it controls internal temperature."

"That, or it's an eye," the specialist returns.

"Ugh." Tyrol looks for a place to set the sack, ends up setting it on a wing. "This model comes with quite a few accessories," he says, not sounding too unhappy.

"Never say I didn't give you anything," Starbuck tells them. She glances at Cally. "Give us a second, will you?"

"Yessir." Cally walks over to a viper, well out of earshot. Tyrol watches her go, looks back to Starbuck expectantly.

"Can you outfit this one like the other one?" the pilot asks.

Tyrol nods. "Don't see why not. Seems to be an exact replica of the other one – or, it will be after it's cleaned out."

Starbuck surveys the raider critically. "You seen Sharon lately?"

The Chief nearly drops the wrench in his hand. "No! No, sir."

Starbuck doesn't look at him, but nods to herself. "Seen her since you got back from Kobol?"

Now Tyrol hesitates. "Once, right afterwards." There'd been nothing to say. Sharon lay unmoving on the bunk, unconscious or sleeping, and he stood outside the bars and mutely stared at her. After a few minutes he'd turned and walked away without looking back.

"You should go see her," Starbuck says, turning her head to meet his eyes.

He looks quickly away. "No reason to. I don't need to see a cylon today."

"She cares about you."

Then he does look at her. "I don't care about her. She's a cylon, a toaster. They don't feel anything unless programed to."

"So it's okay with you if she's tossed out an airlock."

Tyrol swallows. "Sure. She shot the commander. That's treason." His mouth says the right words, but there's worry in his eyes.

"Okay, then." Starbuck nods. "Since you don't care." She turns and limps away.

"Wait. I – " Tyrol stops. "It wasn't real. None of it. Just programing."

Starbuck limps back to him. "But it felt real, didn't it?"

"Yeah," he admits. "And maybe I. . .but then she shot the commander. Now – I can't. She didn't leave me much of a choice."

"Did you go see her in sickbay after the 'accident'?" Starbuck asks. When he nods, she says, "I guess she didn't say anything to let you know what might be going on, right? Cause if she had, you would've told someone."

Tyrol stares at her mutely.

"Guess you didn't leave her much of a choice, either." Again Starbuck turns to limp away. "Good luck on the raider."

* * *

Commander Adama finds Doctor Baltar in his lab processing blood sample. "How's it coming, Doctor?"

"Oh, fairly well, I suppose," Baltar shrugs. "On the plus side, your senior staff aren't cylons. On the negative side – " He waves at the hundreds and thousands of test tubes on the tables. "–I can't promise the same about all of those."

"One day at a time," Adama allows. "What have you learned about cylons from Lieutenant Velarri? The cylon in the brig." Because it's hard, sometimes, to connect the two facts, and if he keeps saying it aloud, maybe one day he won't forget.

Baltar wears his crazy expression for a moment, the one where he turns his head to one side as if he's listening to invisible people. "Good," he says after a moment. "That's going well, too. I-I've learned a lot."

Adama nods. "Such as?"

"Uh, well, uh, biological data, such as temperature regulation, absorption of fluid on the cellular level," he stutters. "Quite fascinating, actually. The half life of certain sedatives is far shorter in her system than a human's. No surprise there, really, but the question remains concerning bio-availability: can the cylon body store such things as oxygen within cellular tissue and then release them as necessary? Human's can't; it's a take-it-or-leave-it type situation, although athletes have been known –"

"Yes, that's quite interesting," Adama interrupts, raising a hand. "What I really want to know, honestly, is whether or not the cylon is being mistreated in any fashion that would constitute experimentation or torture."

Baltar's eyes widen. "No. Not at all."

"She – it – is being provided with adequate food, water, and shelter?" the commander insists. "She's not being over-sedated?"

"No!" Baltar denies. "I'd never do such a thing."

The doctor is lying about something. That's easy to tell. But what – and its significance – is impossible to know.

"Very well. Keep me informed." Adama turns and walks out without waiting for a response.

* * *

The marine guarding the brig snaps smartly to attention as the commander nears. Halting just inside the threshold, Adama returns the salute.

There are rumors that _Galactica Actual_ isn't afraid of anything. The rumors aren't true: he's afraid of not being able to defend the fleet, afraid of watching as his people are slowly destroyed one day at a time, afraid of losing his son. He keeps these fears firmly to himself. But there are other things that worry him; not fears, but concerns strong enough to keep him awake at night, and dodge his shadow in the day.

The cylon formerly known as Boomer is a concern.

When he's completely honest with himself, he can acknowledge that he doesn't really know what to do with the cylon. Hell, he doesn't even know how to think of her. How long can things stay as they are?

"Everything in order here?" he asks the marine.

"Yessir," she answers.

"Carry on." And he walks away, because if he can't even decide how to address the prisoner, he doesn't need to be talking to her.

* * *

Tyrol watches with open amusement as Helo crawls around the raptor. "Haven't changed a thing, sir."

"Yeah, just makin' sure," the pilot says, emerging to jump onto the deck. "Can't wait to fly a real ship again. Maybe tomorrow."

"How's your girl?" Tyrol asks.

Helo nods and smiles. "Good, doing real good. She's going to be going over to the _Rising Sun_ on the days I'm on rotation. There's a play group over there, other kids for her to be with."

"That's good," Tyrol agrees. "If you don't mind my asking, sir – is that part of the reason you stayed behind, on Caprica? To find your girl and her mother?"

Helo hesitates. "The only reason I'm not up on charges is because the Old Man and the XO are so damn happy I'm alive. They need more pilots, so they're willing to forgive me anything." It's no answer, but what can he say? Truth isn't an option.

He looks around the hanger deck, searching for a distraction. In a far corner he sees Verlez working on an engine. The mechanic has two black eyes and a misshapen nose thanks to Starbuck, but otherwise seems fine. "Think I'll have a word with him," he mutters.

"Why don't you just let it go?" Tyrol suggests, following his gaze. "Sir."

Helo smiles and ignores the warning. Strolling over to the mechanic, he stops behind him and crosses his arms. "How you doing there, Specialist?"

The mechanic offers a mock salute with a rag still in his hand. "Just fine. Sir."

"Good." Helo moves a few steps around the man. "How's the nose? Looks painful."

"I'll live," Verlez growls.

Helo nods. "Hey, you're from around Caprica City, right?"

"Sorset," the mechanic corrects, naming an outer suburb.

"I've been there. Nice area," Helo says. "I remember, there's this great bar there. Serves the best star-burst cross I've ever had."

Verlez looks surprised. "Torla's Bar. I love that place. They have great roral nuts – you can throw the shells right on the floor. The barkeep gets mad if you don't." He half-smiles, shaking his head. "Love that place."

"Yeah. It's gone now," the pilot tells him brightly. "Completely wiped out, along with all the things around it. Not even that great sign is left, the one with the dancing cats? Gone. There's just one big pile of rubble. Matches the rest of Sorset." He sighs. "Well, what can you do? Have a good shift."

And the pilot turns and strolls away, while the mechanic looks after him with sudden tears brimming in his eyes.

* * *

It's not at all like Roslin to delay a mission, especially one she's been clinging to for the past month. More research? Like what? The only place she can go for information is the Sacred Scrolls, and he knows she's been pouring over those for weeks.

Standing in CIC, Adama glances at Tigh and suddenly asks, "Do you know what passages the president refers to when she talks about Apollo's Arrow?"

"Not a clue," Tigh admits. He looks up at the communications station, where Dualla sits ciphering through the comm traffic. "Might try her. She's got a special in-road to the president."

Adama nods. He's not terribly thrilled with exploiting Dualla's personal life, but he needs information. He moves towards Dualla, looks up at her and asks the same question he just asked Tigh.

"Uh, Pythia, I think," she stumbles. "I'm not really sure."

There's a copy of the Scrolls in _Galactica_'s archives. Adama retires to his quarters to ponder Pythia for a while.

Within the hour he's on a transport to Colonial One.

* * *

Roslin hears the commotion outside the curtain, tries to ignore it and can't. She gets to her feet, pulls her hair back in a sloppy knot. Trying to stand straight, she goes to the curtain and yanks it aside with a trembling hand. "What seems to be the problem?"

Oh good – Commander Adama is here. This is going to require some fast talking. "What's going on?"

Billy and Wally Grey are standing before Adama, directly blocking his path. "We've got it, Madam President," Billy assures her.

Adama looks furious, red-faced and scowling. "I want to talk to you, Madam President. I've read Pythia," he adds.

So he doesn't really know anything; he only has suspicions. Roslin calmly tightens the belt of her robe. "Alright. Come in."

Reluctantly Billy and Grey step aside. Adama nearly shoves them out of his way, glares at her as he walks past. She nods reassuringly at the two men, then pulls the curtain shut behind her.

"Please, Commander, sit down," she says. She makes the offer because she's so dizzy she can't stand much longer. "So you read Pythia. You must've found something that concerns you." She reaches for her glass of water, but it's empty. The pitcher is on the other side of the room, and she's not about to go for it.

Adama sits on the edge of his chair. "Madam President, I'm going to ask you something, and I'd like an honest answer. Are you terminally ill?"

She forces a smile. "I've got the stomach flu, Commander. When was the that ever terminal?"

Of course it's not that easy. "I've checked the transport records. Major Cottle has been to _Colonial One_ every week since the initial attack, triple that in the past week. He's put out numerous requests for medications in the fleet. Are you telling me this has nothing to do with you?"

She'd really like to have some water. Gods, she feels awful. The fever has left her weak and fuzzy-headed. She has to get rid of the commander before she says too much by accident. "I told you, I have the flu. Can we discuss this later?"

"I'm not leaving until I get an honest answer," Adama replies. "Pythia claims that a dying leader will use the Arrow to open Athena's Tomb. You've been firm since the beginning that _you_ can use the Arrow. Are you the dying leader?"

"We're all dying," she tells him. "Maybe it's you. Maybe that's why you were shot. Would you – hand me that pitcher behind you?"

He turns, grabs the pitcher, snatches up her glass and fills it quickly, sloshing water on his hand. "An honest answer, Madam President," he insists, handing her the glass.

She takes it with both hands, drinks it quickly, holds it back out for more. "Please? Thank you."

He fills it with more patience this time. "How long have you known?" The anger is gone from his voice.

Maybe it's the residual fever or dehydration or just plain fatigue, but she gives him his honest answer. "The morning of the initial attack," she says quietly. "I met with a doctor before attending _Galactica_'s decommissioning ceremony." She takes another drink, briefly closes her eyes. "Breast cancer," she adds. "Hereditary. My mother died from it."

She remembers sitting across from the doctor in his large, spacious office, the large windows, the comfortable chair. He says the results are confirmed, and for an instant she feels like laughing, because she's fraked, completely finished: she's going to die just like her mother and now they finally have something truly in common.

Funny – she spent so much time trying to hide her condition, and now he knows and she doesn't care. It doesn't matter; nothing's changed. "Aren't you going to ask me why I didn't tell you?"

Adama sighs, suddenly sounding very tired. "No. I know why." He takes off his glasses, runs a hand over his eyes. "I put a dying woman in the brig."

She laughs a little. "You made worse mistakes than that," she assures him. "Forcefully taking the President of the Colonies to your ship. Conducting a military coup. You set us against each other –"

"You didn't leave me much of a choice –"

"Not true, and you know it," she denies firmly. "No more lies, Commander. All our cards are down. You were angry that I ordered Lieutenant Thrace to take the raider and bring me the Arrow. Not only were you angry that I had the authority – and the right – to issue such an order, you were angry because she agreed with me. And then Apollo stood against you."

He shakes his head. "I –"

"No lies," she reminds him, sipping her water.

"Maybe," he allows. "You undermined my authority."

"One soldier and one ship hardly constitutes an attempt to undermine your authority." She coughs, her voice running hoarse. "Sorry."

He looks at her as if seeing some fact for the first time. "How long?"

"Long enough to use the Arrow," she replies. Pause. "Soon enough that we'd better find Earth pretty damn fast." She takes another drink. "So, we know each other's secrets. What do we do now?"

* * *

On his way back to the transport, Adama is waylaid by a Colonial citizen.

"Commander Adama! Commander, please wait!"

Adama turns, finds a boy racing down the corridor. He waits, and the boy comes to a sliding halt before him. "What can I do for you?"

The boy takes a deep breath. "Sir, it's about Boomer. Is she okay?"

He can't deal with this right now. "She's fine." He turns away.

"I'm only asking because she's my friend," the boy says, scurrying along behind him. "Maybe she told you about me? My name's Boxy. She brought me back from Caprica on her raptor."

Dammit. What's he supposed to say? _Sorry, your savior shot me, and now she's a test subject._ He keeps walking.

"She didn't mean to hurt you, sir," the boy insists. "I know she didn't! She brought me back from Caprica, and she didn't have to. She took care of me. Cylons killed my parents – she's not a cylon! She took care of me," he repeats.

Then Adama stops. Turning to the boy, he says, "I'll take that into consideration."

* * *

Flying a fourteen hour CAP rotation gives Apollo a lot of time to think. For the first three hours, he's furious with Starbuck. She's wrong, and that's all there is to it. For the next four hours, he rationalizes why Boomer – the cylon – should get whatever comes her way. Halfway through the shift, he begins to wonder if Starbuck might have a point. By the time his viper touches the flight deck, he's ready to talk to her again.

Starbuck isn't easy to find. Not in the mess, not in her rack, and he's just tired enough to let it go until he's showered and slept when he finds her. Passing by the squadron ready room, he hears her arguing with someone, her voice low and intense.

". . .and I know, I know this is hard for you, but we have to get her out of here," Starbuck says.

"She'll go to another ship," someone hisses back. Helo? Yes, that's his voice. He doesn't sound at all happy.

"That's not enough! The entire fracking fleet knows what she looks like!" Starbuck returns. "We have to get her out of here."

Apollo leans his head against a bulkhead. He should've known she wouldn't le tthe matter go just because no one agreed with her.

Starbuck intends to get Boomer out of the brig, and out of the fleet, if she can.

Apollo straightens, goes into the room. "If you're going to conspire to commit treason, you should at least consider shutting the hatch."

Starbuck and Helo stare at him, one with wariness, one with guilt.

"I don't know what you think you heard, but you're wrong," Starbuck begins.

Apollo stops her with a raised hand. "Don't even start. Whatever you're planning, forget it. You'll never be able to get her out of the brig. And even if you did, where would she go? If you want to help Boomer, it all has to be done above-board."

Helo and Starbuck exchange glances.

"Okay," Helo says slowly. "You're right. What do you suggest?"

"I suggest we talk to President Roslin," Apollo replies.

* * *

There is a kind of night aboard _Galactica_, a time when most of its occupants are sleeping. Of course all posts are covered, but the corridors grow quiet and the common areas become still.

Baltar waits until this time to go to the cylon in the brig.

"You're going to have to be fast," Number Six says, walking beside him. "Administer the drug too slowly, and it'll leave signs for the good Doctor Cottle to find."

"I know what I'm doing!" Baltar hisses back. He clutches the vial and syringe tighter in his grasp. He's never intentionally harmed anyone before. Repeatedly he tells himself that he's not hurting a person, a human, but a machine, a toaster. Just because she laughs and cries doesn't change that.

"If Starbuck hadn't come back, this wouldn't be necessary," Six says. "No one listened to the pilot or paid her any attention before now. Pity she had to return."

Baltar halts, turns briefly to face the beautiful blond in her blue cut-away dress. "I'd trade Kara Thrace for a hundred cylons any day. Including you."

For a moment Six looks hurt, then laughs. "We'll see," she says mockingly.

The marine on duty looks board out of his mind. "Evening, doc," he greets Baltar easily. "Want a hand?"

Baltar shakes his head. "No, I think I've got it. I'll yell if I need you." He proceeds down the cell block.

Boomer is sitting on the bunk, blanket drawn up around her, staring blankly at nothing. Baltar keys open the door, doesn't bother to shut it behind him. He sits down on the bed beside her, pulls down the blanket from her arm.

"Hey, doc," she says blandly.

He hates it when she talks to him; it remind him that she's sentient, if nothing else. Usually he doesn't respond, but tonight is different. "Hello." He draws a dose from the vial, prepares to inject her, then hesitates.

"What are you waiting for?" Six demands. "Hurry up."

"Frak off," he tells her. He looks closely at the cylon beside him. He can see the pulse at her throat, the slight movements of her breathing. He's never killed anything bigger than a bug.

"She'll betray you," Six reminds him.

He knows. This is necessary. But she looks very real.

Boomer turns her head to look at him. "More sedatives?"

He really is sorry about this. "No, this is the last one," he says gently. "No more tests."

"No more tests," she repeats woodenly. "The last one. I understand."

And before Baltar knows what's happening, she snaps around, wrenches his wrist and sends the syringe flying across the room. The vial bounces off the bunk, shatters on the floor. She puts a hand across his mouth so that he can't scream. Then she wrestles him to the deck, slams his head once, twice –

* * *

Boomer leaves him unconscious on the deck. He's not dead, but that's only due to great restraint on her part. A liar and a coward, no one would miss him after a few days. Quickly she strips him, takes socks, shoes, pants and shirt; they don't fit, but moving through the corridors without something normal would make her glaringly obvious.

The marine doesn't glance up as she approaches. She's on him before he has a chance to respond, renders him unconscious and takes his handgun.

She shuts the brig's hatch firmly behind her. She has maybe ten minutes before the alarm sounds.

Now, where can she go in ten minutes?

* * *

Tyrol's on the flight deck very early. Everyone's nervous – the cylon formerly known as Boomer has escaped from the brig. She could be anywhere. Marines are searching every inch of the ship, but she's desperate, and _Galactica_'s a huge ship. She might be able to hide for days.

Or not.

Tyrol goes into the tool room for an engine part, finds Sharon Valerri wedged between a case of oil and a bulkhead. Crouched on the floor, she's got a gun in her hand and fear on her face.

"Sharon, what have you done?" he breaths, dropping down beside her.

"I'm not going back," she tells him softly. "I'm not asking for anything. I know I can't get away, and I know that no one gives a frak about me anymore, but I'm not going back."

He remembers the first time he saw her, how he'd casually tried to get closer to see if she really was as beautiful as he'd thought she was. He remembers the first time she laughed at one of his jokes, how he'd felt like dancing because he'd managed to amuse her.

He can't reconcile what she did with who she is. Maybe she does deserve execution, but he's not going to leave her on her own. Not this time.

"Stay here," he tells her. "Don't move a muscle. Okay? Be very quiet. We're gonna get you out of this."

She shakes her head, eyes wide and unblinking. "Don't bother. You can't love a toaster, Chief. It's just a thing you throw out when it breaks. I broke some time back."

"Shut up and stay here," he tells her again.

Slowly he backs out of the tool room, shuts the hatch behind him. He glances around the flight deck, sees two dozen people he'd trust with his life, but not his heart. Finally he spots Cally working on one of the raiders.

"Got a job for you," he says roughly, coming up behind her.

"Yes, Chief?"

"Keep everyone out of the tool room. Say whatever you want, but keep them out." He watches her squarely, waiting for questions he doesn't dare answer.

"Yessir," Cally agrees slowly, watching him just as intensely. "And just so you know – Starbuck and Helo are in the rec room playing pyramid. Apollo, too, I think. They won't help look for the escaped cylon."

"I see." So Cally knows something, or at least guesses. "I see."

He goes to the rec room as fast as he can without actually running.

* * *

"Okay, time to put all our cards on the table," Starbuck says softly, looking from person to person around the table.

"Agreed," Apollo says. He looks to Chief Tyrol. "Go back to the flight deck and ready a raptor. Helo's due to go on duty in thirty minutes. We'll stash Boomer in the raptor, and he can take her to _Colonial One_. The president will protect her."

"The president can't protect herself," Starbuck scoffs. "A team will just be sent over to retrieve Boomer, just like they took the president."

"Well, what so you suggest?" Apollo demands. "I'm out of ideas here, Kara."

Starbuck takes a breath. "I say, we stash rations and anti-radiation meds in one of the raiders and cut her lose." She glances at Helo. "And we send Rose with her."

"The kid?" "Why?" "No way." The last from Helo.

"Look what's been done to Sharon, Karl," Starbuck says, almost pleading. "What do you think will happen to Rose? She'll be something to study, one of Baltar's rats."

"No one will know what we don't tell them," Helo snarls.

"What are you talking about?" Apollo demands.

"Oh, for frak's sake, she's not even a month old!" Starbuck returns, losing her pleading note. "She'll be a teenager in another week or two. Think no one's gonna notice?"

Apollo's eyes widen. "Is she – is she a cylon?"

Starbuck only looks at Helo.

"She's half," the raptor pilot says finally. "She's my daughter, and her mother was – another Sharon."

Apollo realizes suddenly that it wasn't Boomer who Starbuck had been trying to convince Helo to get out of the fleet, but the child.

"Rose of Sharon," Tyrol says finally. "Like the flower. I don't believe this."

"Well, believe it," Starbuck replies. "On Caprica, we were almost free when the cylons found us again. Rose's mother took a shot meant for me." She glares at the three men defiantly. "I'm not going to let her daughter be mistreated just because she has the bad luck of being half cylon."

"That wouldn't happen," Apollo denies. But it might and he knows it. Shaking his head, he says, "Alright. New plan."

* * *

Getting Rose to Helo's raptor isn't a problem. She's small, and has enough memories from Caprica to know the value of silence. Getting Boomer into the raptor is a bit larger problem. Finally Tyrol takes a wagon into the tool room; Boomer gets in, and he covers her with a tarp and spare parts. She's wheeled over to the raptor, and while Cally watches one way and Tyrol the other, the cylon pilot scrambles up the ramp and into the ship.

Cally watches the hatch while Tyrol makes his goodbyes.

"I'm sorry for all of this," Boomer says, watching Tyrol with her heart in her eyes. "This isn't at all what I had planned."

"I know," Tyrol says gruffly. "And I'm sorry, too." Starbuck and Helo are in the pilots' seats, waiting to be cut loose. "I don't think I'll see you again."

"It's better that way," Boomer replies. "I won't forget you. And, for what it's worth, I did love you. Still do, actually, although if you'd asked me a few months ago, I'd've told you cylons can't love."

Then Tyrol pulls her close. "I love you, too, Sharon Valerri," he says softly. "Take care of yourself."

After the hatch is closed and the raptor is being towed into the launch tubes, Cally comes to stand beside him. "You did a good thing, Chief."

He snorts, tries to be nonchalant. "Tell me that again when we're both being court-martialed."

"You can't be court-martialed for loving somebody," Cally says, turning away.

Tyrol watches the raptor until it's gone.

* * *

"Raptor 724 away," Dualla announces. "Have a good shift, Helo. Nice to have you back."

Tigh glances at the commander. "We're lucky to have gotten him back. Finally, something going our way. Maybe we'll send him with the president tomorrow to Kobol. She's firm on tomorrow, isn't she? Not going to change her mind again?"

Adama shakes his head. "That Arrow is her reason for living. She'll be ready."

"If some antique and its legends are her reason for living, her life must really stink," Tight laughs.

Apollo wonders over to Lieutenant Gaeta's station. "You've been here for hours, haven't you?"

"Since the cylon's escape from the brig," Gaeta confirms. "Wonder where she's hiding."

"We'll find her," Apollo says. "Why don't you take a break? I can cover Dradis."

"Thanks." Gaeta smiles. "I'm starving. Be right back."

Dradis is a technological necessity, but easy to misuse. One touch of the wrong key, and it's momentarily off-line. Not for a long period of time – just long enough for a raptor to make a jump.

* * *

"Sorry to rush things, but we have to get back," Starbuck says, tossing ration packs out of the hatch.

Helo and Boomer carry out the chests of supplies. Not far from where the raptor has landed, Rose plays in a patch if yellow flowers. She's chasing butterflies.

This place on Kobol is beautiful, a valley of knee-high grass cut by a stream of clear water. Mountains tower in the distance; on the far side of the stream, trees stretch into forest so deep that the eyes cannot see past shadows.

"You'll be fine here," Helo says, sounding as if he's trying to convince himself as much as Boomer.

"I know," she replies. "Starbuck says Rose should be an adult in no more than a few months. We can hide at least that long."

"You won't forget to tell her about me?" Helo asks, watching his daughter chase the gossamer-winged insects.

"How could I? You're her father – and my friend." Boomer smiles.

"Tick-tock, Karl," Starbuck calls, not ungently.

The two raptor pilots embrace. "I wish things could've been different," Helo says softly.

"Me, too." Boomer lets him go. "Be safe." She looks up into the raptor. "You, too, Starbuck. Try not to drive Apollo to drinking."

"Girl has to have her fun," Starbuck returns. "And just so you know, you owe me for this. I plan to come collecting in ten years or so."

"With interest, no doubt," Boomer laughs.

"You better believe it," Helo agrees.

* * *

When they jump back, Helo makes a big deal about it over the wire. "Still have the touch!"

"Have the touch again and the CAG will have your ass," Crashdown says, laughing. "He hates us doing unauthorized jumps."

"Raptor 724 – _Galactica_," Dualla says. "Captain Apollo wants to know if Starbuck is with you."

"Roger that, _Galactica_," Starbuck replies. "Tell him I got tired of staying home."

"Apollo says he hopes you had a good trip because you're going back into CAP rotation starting tomorrow," Dualla says, laughter heavy in her voice. "Have a good shift."

"Yay for me." She glances at Helo. "You did the right thing, you know."

"Maybe," he allows. "It was all just so sudden, you know? The attack, Sharon, being a father. I feel like – I don't know. Time to go back to normal, I guess, but I can't really remember what normal's like."

"Normal," Starbuck echoes. "Me, either. But I guess, no matter what happens, I'll always know that I tried. That's the best I can do."

Helo turns his gaze back to the unfamiliar stars. "Is that good enough?"

Starbuck shrugs. "It has to be."

(End)


End file.
